To Kill a Captain
by basswall
Summary: When Captain Kirk is poisoned, will Dr. McCoy be able to figure out how to save him? First Fan Fic attempt. Contains some mild adult themes, so rated T just in case. No slash
1. Chapter 1

_This story takes place shortly after the events of the movie. This is my first Fan Fic attempt, so please R&R. I have absolutely no medical expertise, so please excuse any inaccuracies. _

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters from **_**Star Trek**_**.**

To Kill a Captain

Lacy lay tangled up in the sheets, watching James Kirk breathe. He was definitely a hottie, she thought, and the rumors she had heard about his talents in bed were not exaggerated. What he lacked in tenderness and romance, he certainly made up for in experience. She knew it was not a good idea to get involved with a man while she was working, but she had made an exception this time. Why shouldn't she have a little fun every now and then? It had been an embarrassingly long time since she'd seen any action, and she felt she was due.

She lay there for a while longer, just watching him sleep. His chest rose and fell evenly, and when she whispered his name she got no response. Finally convinced that he was sleeping soundly, she disentangled herself from the crumpled bedclothes, and from his left arm, which was flung across her chest, and got out of the bed. He stirred slightly as she climbed over him, and she stood very still until his breathing became even again. As she watched his face intently, she thought again what a very sexy man he was. Even the partly healed cut on his face, and bruises on his body somehow added to his manly mystique. It was a shame she was going to have to kill him.

Still listening intently for any sound of movement, Lacy set to work. She found her rumpled dress on the floor at the bottom of the bed, her bra hanging from a chair across the room, and her panties hanging from a light fixture. She dressed silently, and then opened her evening bag, found the small slit in the lining, and tore it. From underneath the lining she removed a hypospray and what looked like a particularly evil hypodermic needle, and set them on the desk.

She found the instrument of death she was using for this job to be rather distasteful, partly because she had never used it before, and couldn't be assured of the results, and partly because she had been told the death would be particularly painful. But the customer is always right, she reminded herself, and she was getting paid plenty to do it his way.

She had originally argued for the painless and simple phaser set to kill, but her customer had felt it would be too risky. Kirk's body might be found before she could get off the ship, and as she was the last person to have been with him, she would be a suspect. This method would give her plenty of time to get off the ship without arousing suspicion, before anyone realized there was anything wrong with the captain.

Jim was lying on his side with his back turned to her, in the perfect position for Lacy to carry out her plan. She pressed the hypo spray to his neck, giving him a dose of a strong sedative. She had tried to get him drunk at the party so that he would blame any grogginess he felt the next morning on the alcohol, but he had told her that he couldn't drink too much because of his duties. Based on the research she had done on him, this had surprised her, but fortunately, seducing him had been even easier than she'd anticipated.

She gave the sedative a few minutes to take effect, and then peeled his eyelid back to look at his eye. She wasn't a doctor, and didn't know exactly what she was looking for, but she figured he must be sedated or forcing his eye open would have woken him up.

Satisfied that he was unconscious, Lacy grabbed the hypodermic needle on the desk. She pushed a tiny button on the end, and it emitted a faint whirring sound. This was the only part of the plan that had her a little nervous. She'd never used this stuff before, had never even heard of it before she got this job, and was not entirely convinced of her ability to administer it correctly.

She held the syringe up to her face and stared at the substance inside, which was now spinning and glowing. She knew it contained an alien metal, almost completely unknown within the Federation, which was highly toxic to humans. She had been told that the metal was in its liquid form within the syringe, but when injected would slowly form a ball the size of a pea inside the body. Because of its properties, it was nearly impossible to detect with a tricorder, and it would travel away from the injection site, toward the vital organs, and poison the unfortunate host in just a few days. Though she hated not being able to confirm that her target was dead before leaving, she had to admit that it was an excellent means of killing someone, if you wanted to be far away when they actually died.

Lacy had been instructed to inject the substance anywhere on the captain's lower back, and she chose a spot which was already darkened by a bruise. Judging from the rather thick liquid and large needle, she was pretty sure Kirk would feel it the next morning, and she hoped he would blame the pain on the earlier injury. Even if he didn't, she was fairly certain he would not seek medical attention until it was too late. Her research had revealed his mistrust of doctors.

She poked the needle into Jim's back, and slowly pushed the plunger, watching as the metallic liquid traveled from the syringe into his body. She was only half way through when she heard him moan in pain. His eyes were still closed, but the pain was obviously enough to pierce through his unconsciousness. As she attempted to quickly empty the syringe into him, he began to thrash, moving his arms and legs, and calling for "Bones." With her free hand, Lacy managed to grab the hypospray, and she jammed it into his neck again. He whimpered once more and then was silent. She emptied the syringe into his back and removed the needle. "You're gonna have a hell of a hangover from that sedative tomorrow," she told him. "I should know." Of course the after effects of the sedative were the least of his worries.

Reaching back into her bag, Lacy removed a small packet that contained an antiseptic wipe, and swabbed the area with it. It wouldn't do to call attention to the injection site by having it get infected. She then shoved the instruments and the wipe wrapper into her evening bag, grabbed her shoes and left his room. If anyone saw her coming from the captain's quarters at this late hour they would assume that she was making the walk of shame from his room to hers. By the time her true purpose was discovered, if it ever was, she would be long gone. She had made enough money by killing Captain James T. Kirk to ensure that she could disappear forever.


	2. Chapter 2

Captain Kirk awoke to the sound of the computer telling him it was time to wake up. Judging from the loud volume, it had been trying to rouse him for some time. Without opening his eyes, Jim muttered "off". He was mildly surprised when his voice came out thick and raspy, and his throat burned with dryness. Noticing this made him take stock of the way the rest of his body felt. It seemed like every muscle ached, his head was pounding, and his stomach was queasy. "Must have had a really good time last night", he thought, as he finally opened his eyes.

It took a moment for him to realize where he was. In his state of half-consciousness he had assumed that he was in his dorm at the academy, but now that he realized he was in his newly assigned quarters on the Enterprise, all the events of the last few days came flooding back. It took him a moment longer to remember the party- a celebration of a successful mission, and belated christening of the fleet's new flagship all rolled into one. Jim pulled himself to a sitting position on the edge of his bed, moaning as his head swam and his stomach lurched. _I hardly even drank,_ he thought.

He tried to remember last night more clearly. He'd had a shot of some Saurelian brandy with Bones early in the evening, and then later another drink- something syrupy sweet that tasted vaguely like mint, that he couldn't identify. Other than that, the only alcoholic beverage he'd consumed was a glass of champagne with… "Lucy!" he muttered aloud. He turned to look behind him in the bunk, as if even in his state of disorientation he could have possibly been unaware of a woman sharing the small bed with him. A moment later, he was profoundly grateful that his bed was unoccupied, as he recalled that her name was actually "Lacy". He supposed she had gone back to her own quarters at some point during the night, and realized with some embarrassment that he must have fallen asleep very quickly after they had finished making love. _Hell, after what I've been through in the past few days, who can blame me_, he thought. He'd barely slept at all in the past three days. "No wonder I feel like I got run over by an elephant", he muttered. It was now that Jim noticed that a particular spot on his lower back was killing him. He touched it gingerly, wincing at the pain. He got up and looked backward in the mirror, trying to see the place on his back. He sucked his breath in sharply as he realized that his entire back was mottled with bruises and cuts in various stages of healing. He wasn't sure why this particular spot was suddenly giving him so much trouble, but he now realized that he was lucky not to be in more pain.

Still naked from the night before, Jim walked slowly to the shower. He still could not account for the fact that he felt as if he had a hangover, even though he'd only had three drinks. After all his years of hanging out in bars, he had developed quite a tolerance for alcohol, and it took a hell of a lot more than two whiskeys and a glass of champagne to get him drunk. Of course, he mused, as the hot shower soothed some of the pain from his damaged back, he wasn't exactly sure what the second drink had been. Some hot alien chick had handed it to him. It hadn't tasted very strong, but if it was an alien substance, who knew what the effects could have been. Maybe it took a really long time to kick in, and then knocked you on your ass. He sheepishly recalled several occasions at the academy when McCoy had lectured him for accepting an unidentified alien drink. "You don't even know what you're drinking, it could be toxic to humans," he'd argued irritably. Of course, Kirk had always accepted this as a challenge, and would shout something brilliant like "Down the hatch!" before chugging the contested liquid in one gulp. He now wished he'd taken his friend's advice. This had to truly be one of the worst hangovers he'd ever had- and that was saying something. "No more alien substances for me", he muttered to himself as he stepped out of the shower.

Jim got a pair of uniform pants and a gold tunic out of his closet, and walked to his bed. He sat down on the edge too quickly, and his stomach lurched. He stayed very still on the edge of his bed for a moment, shivering, clutching his pants very tightly in his right hand, closing his eyes, and willing his stomach to stop churning. A moment later he realized he was losing the battle, and he sprinted the few steps back to the bathroom before his stomach violently ejected its contents into the toilet. He was sick for several minutes, until there was nothing left in his belly. "Oh, god", he rasped, resting his head on the cool metal seat.

He stayed in that position for a while, until he felt that his stomach would no longer betray him, and then he slowly rose to try and get dressed for the second time. Jim took his time putting on his clothes. He was forced to pull his shirt on very gingerly over the abrasions on his back, and that one spot especially screamed with pain whenever he touched it. He looked in the mirror and noted that he looked like hell. His face was slicked with sweat, and he had dark circles around his eyes. The bruises around his neck from nearly being strangled by his first officer and the hypo sprays administered by the good doctor were starting to heal, but were still visible, and added to his unhealthy look. He noted that he had a new bruise on his neck that he hadn't noticed before. "Too many to keep track," he muttered wryly.

Turning away from his reflection, Jim left his cabin and started walking to the bridge. He was tempted to stop at sickbay on his way there to get something for a hangover, but he had been scrupulously avoiding the doctor's clutches for the past few days. He knew he would walk in for an aspirin and end up being forced to stay for a complete physical evaluation and treatment of every scratch on his body.

Bones was his best friend, and yet Jim hated doctors. The irony was not lost on either of them. He supposed that his friend's occupation was a mixed blessing. He'd been able to avoid visiting the infirmary at the Academy, choosing instead to let McCoy treat him. Not that he'd needed a lot of medical care. And of course, there was the fact that McCoy's medical expertise had been directly responsible for getting Jim aboard the Enterprise, though his gratitude for this was somewhat tempered by the memory of the miserable side effects he had suffered from McCoy's hypospray. Now that he was captain of the Enterprise, and Bones was Chief Medical Officer, Jim could see that there was a down side. Bones' desire to keep Jim healthy went beyond duty to deep friendship, and the good doctor could be a mother hen at times. He could just predict what Bones would do if he saw Jim at this moment. He'd probably get him in the neck again with that damn hypospray and drag his limp body to sickbay. Jim rubbed his neck ruefully. No, it would definitely be best to avoid Bones until this hangover faded.

As he walked onto the bridge, Jim was somewhat gratified to see that he wasn't the only one looking like particular hell this morning. Sulu had bags under his eyes and his hair was sticking up in an odd manner, and Chekov, who Jim knew for a fact was not old enough to drink, looked worse than Jim felt. In fact, the only two crewmembers on the bridge that didn't look like they'd been through the wringer were Uhura and Spock. They both looked well-rested and professional, a fact that irritated Jim. And he could have sworn he detected an air of superiority coming from the passive Vulcan.

Well, he wasn't going to let any of it bother him. He and his crew (_his crew_- the words still made him want to break out in a ridiculous grin) had deserved the bash the Federation had thrown last night in belated celebration of the launch of the Enterprise. Various dignitaries and high-ranking Federation officials had been present to commemorate the occasion, and it seemed that no expense had been spared to show them all a good time. Of course, the Enterprise had been docked at the space station for the party, and Jim was ready to pull away and let the real fun start.

He walked over to his chair, and eased himself into it, to avoid jarring his back. If the damn pain would go away, this would be a perfect day.

"Spock, have all of our guests been beamed back to the station?"

"Yes, Captain. The last of them left a quarter of an hour ago."

"Mr. Sulu, do you have the coordinates for our ordered destination?"

"Aye aye Captain, programmed and ready to go, sir."

"All right, take us out."

Jim watched his crew with satisfaction as they made the necessary preparations, and Sulu eased the Enterprise gracefully away from the space station. He knew their next mission was to determine the reason behind an old fashioned distress signal that had been sent from one of their member planets. All attempts to respond to the distress signal had been unsuccessful, and no one was sure whether this was due to that world's primitive communications technology or something more dire.

"Warp three, Mr. Sulu."

The Captain felt the familiar brief jolt as his ship made the jump to light speed. He sat back in his chair and noted that he was starting to feel better. His stomach no longer felt as if it were trying to rebel, and his headache was all but gone. His only major source of discomfort now was his back, which seemed to have gotten worse in the past hour. The pain appeared to be spreading from the spot he had noticed this morning to the middle of his back.

_What the hell did I do to myself_, Jim wondered. He had felt fine at the party last night. Well, maybe not completely fine, but the bumps and bruises he had sustained recently were minor enough that he had hardly noticed them. _What_ _could have caused this between last night and this morning? _Suddenly it came to him. He had a vivid recollection of him standing with his back against the wall in his quarters, with that girl, Lacy's, legs wrapped around his waist while they went at it. The mental image made him grin. He should have known not to try that position after the recent abuse his body had taken. Now he'd pulled a muscle or something.

Ironically, the knowledge that his back had sustained a sex injury made him smile, and his mood improved. It had definitely been worth it. That Lacy had been very hot. For some reason, though, thinking about her caused a vague, uncomfortable feeling in his gut, a nebulous suspicion he couldn't place or name. She had come on so strongly last night, chasing off two very sexy Deltans, who had gotten to him first. She was all over him for the rest of the evening, whispering in his ear, caressing his chest, even rubbing his crotch with her foot underneath the table. He knew resisting her would have been futile, and he had admittedly jumped when she suggested going back to his place. So he found it a little odd that she had left his quarters in the middle of the night, and just disappeared without even saying goodbye. _Maybe_, he thought, rather smugly, _his reputation had preceded him, and she had just wanted to experience James Kirk's talents for herself. _This thought made him grin again, but even _his_ ego wasn't big enough for him to truly believe that reasoning.


	3. Chapter 3

_**Sorry it took so long for me to update! I'll try to get chapter 4 up without as long of a delay. Please R&R.**_

_**I still own nothing, but I'd pay good money for Chris Pine.**_

The senior officers of the Enterprise had all been called to the one of the ship's conference rooms to be briefed on their upcoming mission. Spock had done extensive research on the planet and its history, and he was given the responsibility of informing the rest of the crew.

"As you undoubtedly already know, Idaus is a class M planet located on the edge of the Klingon Neutral Zone," the First Officer began, pointing to a space-view picture of the planet which was displayed on the computer screen.

"Idaus has only been a member of the Federation for five years. The Idausians are not technologically advanced, compared to the other planets in the Federation. They do not have warp capability, so of course they would not have been given membership except for extenuating circumstances which made it necessary to allow it for their own protection.

"The Klingons effectively disrupted the natural technological progression of the planet's people, when they discovered vast deposits of dilithium crystals on Idaus. Initially, the Klingons entered into a trade agreement with the Idausians, but when the Klingons started taking control of the planet, the Idausian leadership asked the Federation for assistance."

Spock went on to explain that once the planet had been secured, the Federation representatives found that though Idaus was not technologically advanced, the Idausians were politically progressive, with elected leaders governing a successful capitalistic society.

The decision had been made to allow the planet to join the Federation based on its sophisticated government, and the fact that its natural technological evolution had already been irrevocably altered. After the planet's initiation into the Federation, a trade agreement had been established which would keep the Federation well supplied with dilithium crystals for a long time to come.

Since that initial agreement had been reached, there had been little communication between Idaus and the Federation, other than with the Federation cargo ships that picked up the dilithium.

Spock ended his briefing by showing pictures of the Idausians- short, very fat, bald humanoids (rather unattractive by human standards) and asking for questions. Uhura had a few words to say about the Idausians distinctive language, and Sulu reported that they would reach the planet in approximately forty hours.

Jim was relieved when the briefing was over, as the conference room chairs were hard and uncomfortable. He felt as if he had shirked his duties somewhat by having nothing at all to say during the briefing, but the pain in his back had made it difficult to concentrate on what was being said. If anyone noticed his silence, no one said anything. He told himself that he would find time to educate himself on the planet before their arrival, as he could not remember much of what had been said during the briefing.

By the end of Jim's shift he was more than ready to get off the bridge. The pain in his back had steadily gotten worse over the hours of sitting in the command chair, and had slowly sapped his energy and left him in a foul mood. He had been told that there was a hot tub on the recreation deck somewhere, and he could think of nothing he wanted more than to relax in some hot water. He had already promised himself that if a soak in the tub and a good night's sleep didn't improve the situation, he would drag himself into sickbay first thing in the morning.

As he had hoped, a half hour in the frothing water of the hot tub helped to loosen his muscles and ease the pain. He felt relaxed and sleepy as he toweled off. He also felt the nagging worry that had been slowly increasing with the pain, that there may be something seriously wrong with him, start to fade.

Exactly three minutes after Kirk entered his cabin and settled himself comfortably on his bunk, his door buzzer chimed. He heaved a sigh, and said, "Come in."

Dr. McCoy walked in, carrying a bottle of his private stock of Saurian brandy and two snifters. Jim stayed in his reclined position, but gave his friend a welcoming grin. "Hey, Bones. How's the CMO business treating you?"

"Just about as well as the captaining business is treating you, from the looks of it. Are you feeling okay? You don't look so hot. Dammit, I knew I should have brought my tricorder," the doctor fussed.

Jim sighed. "Bones, just be my drinking buddy tonight, okay? You can be my physician later."

McCoy dropped resignedly into a chair. "Sorry. Force of habit." He put the snifters on the table and poured a healthy dose of brandy into each one. He handed one to Jim, who was still reclining on his bunk, and then raised his glass. "To more responsibility than we bargained for," he said. Jim clinked his glass against McCoy's and they both drank deeply.

"Hey, I don't know about you, but this is just about exactly the amount of responsibility I bargained for," Jim said. "I didn't think it would come this soon, but… hell, I think I can handle it."

"Is that why you look so stressed out?" McCoy asked, observing his friend closely.

"I'm not stressed out, Bones, I'm… I think I might have pulled a muscle in my back last night," he admitted finally.

"Doing what?" McCoy demanded.

Jim just gave him a wicked smile.

The doctor stared at him for half a second before comprehension dawned. "Only you," McCoy growled. He tried to look disapproving, but he couldn't keep the smile completely off his face. "How did you… forget it, I don't want to know."

They sipped their drinks in companionable silence for a moment before McCoy asked, "Do you need me to take a look at your back?"

Jim shook his head. "Nah, it was bothering me earlier, but I sat in the hot tub for a while, and it's feeling better."

McCoy seemed to accept this answer, so Jim decided to ask the probing questions for a change. "So, is there a particular reason you're feeling like you got more than you bargained for?" he asked.

The doctor refilled both of their glasses before answering. "Just… realizing how many people there are on this ship. It's a lot of work." He ran his finger idly around the rim of his glass before finally getting to what was really bothering him. "I just finished submitting the medical reports for the people we lost," he said softly. "Not one older than thirty-five."

"I'm sorry, Bones. That had to be rough."

They did not speak for several minutes, but there was no awkwardness in their silence. Neither of them was particularly good at talking about his feelings, but somehow McCoy felt better for having simply shared a drink with his best friend.

He stood and gathered the brandy and snifters. "Well, I guess I'd better get some sleep."

Jim made a move to sit up, and winced in pain. He immediately replaced the pained look with his trademark careless grin, but McCoy had seen it.

"Jim, I want to examine you tomorrow. Just to make sure everything is okay."

"Bones, if it still hurts tomorrow, I promise I'll come in."

This seemed to satisfy the doctor, and he said goodnight, and left the captain's cabin.


	4. Chapter 4

_Well, taking summer classes completely got in the way of working on this story. Sorry it took so long, but the next chapter is almost done and should be up very soon. Please R & R. _

_**Disclaimer: I don't own poor Kirk or any other part of the **_**Star Trek**_** universe. **_

Jim spent a restless night plagued by nightmares, and awoke in a blinding haze of pain. A dark dream fled from his memory so quickly that he could recall nothing but a lingering feeling of terror. He sat up slowly, trying to think. The throbbing in his back had not only intensified but now seemed to be centered in the middle of his back, radiating outward. His brain felt fuzzy, and his only thought was making the pain go away, and he knew Bones would help him. He tried to stand, but his knees buckled under him and he found himself on all fours, shivering, and fighting the nausea that threatened to overtake him.

What the hell was wrong with him? He clearly had a fever, and there was a pain in his abdomen that had not been there the day before. He slowly got to his knees, and pulled himself to a standing position, using his desk for support. Had he been thinking clearly, he would have simply called emergency medical personnel to his room. But he left his quarters with one driving purpose: get to sickbay, find Bones. Bones would make the pain stop.

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It was two very bewildered nurses who greeted the captain as he stumbled through the door into sickbay. The day shift would not start for another hour, and Dr. Pratt, the physician on duty, was in his office finishing up some paperwork.

Though startled at the sudden appearance of a very ill Jim Kirk, the two women were well-trained, and quick enough on their feet to rush to support the captain on either side before he hit the floor.

"Captain, what happened?" one of them asked as they man-handled Jim onto a bio-bed.

The captain seemed not to hear them. "Where's Bones?" he rasped.

The two women looked at each other. Bones? What the hell was he talking about?

"Don't worry, Captain, we're going to take good care of you."

One of the nurses ran to get Dr. Pratt, while the other stayed with the captain.

"I'm Nurse Conway," the remaining woman said. She hooked him up to the indicators on the bio-bed, and noted that his heart-rate was elevated, his blood-pressure was low, and his pain level was off the charts. "Can you tell me what the trouble is?"

Jim seemed to see her for the first time. He looked at her imploringly, his blue eyes bright with fever, and repeated desperately, "Where's Bones?"

Nurse Conway shook her head, and was about to reply, when Nurse Kellen came back with Dr. Pratt. The doctor tried his best to get Kirk to tell him what his symptoms were, but the captain was clearly not lucid, and would only beg them to "Get Bones".

Not knowing what this meant, the doctor gave up his questioning, got out his tricorder, and ran it over the captain's body. Frowning, he repeated the diagnostic several more times, and then said grimly, "We'd better call Dr. McCoy."

It was a furious Dr. McCoy who entered sickbay. What the hell was wrong with Jim? Why hadn't Jim come in sooner? Why hadn't he been called immediately? Why had Dr. Pratt been so cryptic over the intercom? What the hell was…

His barrage of questions ended abruptly as Jim heaved himself into a partial sitting position, turned his head to the side, and began to vomit. Dr. Pratt jumped sideways out of the line of fire, allowing McCoy to hurriedly take his place at Jim's side. One of the nurses handed him a basin, and Bones held it for the captain, all the while gripping his friend's shoulder in a reassuring manner.

"All right, Jim, it's okay. Try to take some deep breaths for me." He debated for a moment giving Jim a hypospray with an anti-nausea drug, but decided he had better wait until he knew exactly what was wrong with the captain.

When the bout of sickness finally passed, McCoy eased Jim back down onto the bed. Seeing his friend's abject misery had replaced the doctor's irritation with compassion and worry. He glanced up at the monitor above the captain's bed, and was alarmed at what it told him. He needed to figure out exactly what was wrong, so he could help his friend deal with the high pain level. "Jim, what the hell happened to you?" he asked gruffly.

"I… I don't know. My back hurts," Jim muttered vaguely. "You weren't here, Bones."

A look of understanding passed between the two nurses.

McCoy sighed. "I'm here now. And I'm going to figure out what's wrong with you."

Twenty minutes later, Kirk was sedated, and McCoy and Pratt were in a conference in McCoy's office. McCoy was pacing back and forth as he spoke. "It just makes no sense. Everything the tricorder is telling me indicates stage three pancreatic cancer, except that it's not picking up a tumor." He ran a hand through his hair. "And not to mention the fact that I just gave him a complete physical four days ago, and he was in perfect health. Cancer that advanced doesn't just appear over night. There would have been signs."

Dr. Pratt followed his boss's movement with his eyes. Back-and-forth, back-and-forth, across the length of the small office. It was starting to make him nervous as well as dizzy. "That's why I waited to start treatment until you arrived. It didn't make sense to me either."

Dr. McCoy kept pacing, and then continued speaking as if Dr. Pratt wasn't there. "And sepsis? What the hell? He has all the symptoms of blood poisoning but the preliminary tests show no traces of bacteria in his blood." McCoy stopped in front of his desk, and slammed his fist on the wooden surface in frustration. "How are we supposed to treat sepsis when there's no bacteria?"

This time Dr. Pratt didn't respond. Dr. McCoy hardly seemed to know he was there, anyway. The Chief Medical Officer seemed to be speaking to himself, and Pratt was just there as a prop to keep him from looking like a lunatic.

Dr. McCoy finally stopped pacing and dropped into his desk chair. "I'm going to order further testing to try and find whatever bacteria is causing the sepsis, but in the meantime we'll start him on a strong antibiotic." Pratt nodded his assent. "And we'll have to give him a cell-growth inhibitor just in case he really has pancreatic cancer, but I'm going to have to do further tests to find the tumor…"

McCoy stopped talking, lost in his thoughts. Never had he been so confounded by a patient's condition. All of Jim's symptoms and test results pointed to pancreatic cancer- it would have been a textbook case if there had been a tumor, and if he hadn't been fine two days before. Though pancreatic cancer was certainly not fun to have, it did not present any great medical mystery, and the standard treatment was highly effective. And then there was the sepsis. This again, should have been easy to treat: identify the bacteria and administer an appropriate antibiotic. But there _was_ no bacteria in Jim's blood. At least not that he had been able to find. Maybe Jim had gotten himself infected by some alien bacteria the tests had not been able to detect. He knew the next thing he needed to do was to try and get some answers from Jim, though it wasn't going to be easy given the captain's current condition. Though nothing made sense right now, he felt as though he should have the answer, as if a distant memory was being stirred.

The sound of a throat being cleared startled McCoy from his reverie, and he realized that Dr. Pratt was still in the room. "Oh…thanks for your help, doctor," McCoy said with some embarrassment, "your shift's over, you can go."


	5. Chapter 5

_I don't know why, but this chapter was really hard to write. Hopefully it came out okay. Thanks everyone so much for your reviews, they are really inspiring me to keep this story going until it's done. _

Dr. McCoy stood over Jim Kirk's bed, waiting for him to wake up. He had been reluctant to temporarily take the captain off of the drugs that allowed him to rest in some semblance of comfort, but it was necessary if Kirk was going to be lucid enough to answer some questions.

The doctor had done every test he could imagine. He'd run diagnostics on every part of Jim's body, had done an exhaustive search of the computer's database for similar symptoms, consulted with all medical personnel on the ship, and had even sent subspace pleas for advice to several of the best doctors he knew, all to no avail.

Dr. McCoy had started the captain on a powerful, broad spectrum antibiotic and a cell-growth inhibitor to combat the sepsis and pancreatic cancer all of his instruments pointed to. But there was still something in the back of his mind that told him that not only was Jim suffering from something else entirely, but that McCoy should know what it was.

This frustrated the good doctor to the point where he was ready to rip out his hair. McCoy knew he had never dealt with a case like this personally, the recollection was too vague, but he went back through his old files anyway, just in case.

Of course no similar cases were found, and now he was forced to think back through all the other means by which he may have encountered something similar to what his friend was now dealing with. He wracked his brain until his head hurt trying to recall if perhaps he had read about a case like this in a medical journal or a patient's chart.

Nothing occurred to him, and he thought about it so long that he began to doubt his own intuition. He knew he had to talk to Jim.

He didn't have to wait long before Jim began to show signs of regaining consciousness.

The captain's eyelids fluttered and then opened. His blue eyes were unfocused and cloudy, and for a moment his face registered the panic that comes from complete disorientation.

Dr. McCoy put his hand on his friend's, and softly said the captain's name. Jim looked around wildly for a moment, and then relaxed when he saw Bones standing there.

"How'd I get here, Bones?" he asked groggily.

"You walked in yourself. Gave the night staff a good scare," Bones answered. "How do you feel?"

"I'm…" Jim started to form the word "okay", but a sharp look from Bones and a sudden stab of pain in his back made him change his mind. "God, my back hurts, Bones," he said finally.

"Anything else?" McCoy wasn't sure whether to be relieved or alarmed that Jim was being honest about his physical condition for once.

"My stomach's not feeling too hot," Jim admitted after a moment's hesitation.

Dr. McCoy sighed. Jim's symptoms were definitely in line with the diagnoses of pancreatic cancer. This should have given him a small amount of relief since pancreatic cancer was something he knew how to treat, but he still felt uneasy about his friend's condition.

He wanted to yell at the captain, to give him the ass-ripping of a lifetime for being so goddamn stubborn, for waiting so long to come in, for… well, for being himself. But he took one look at his best friend, and he couldn't do it.

Jim had given up trying to pretend he was fine. His face was slicked with sweat, and his breathing was shallow. His eyes were closed, but the death-grip he had on the sheet got tighter in time with the periodic elevations of the pain indicator, and the almost inaudible whimpers he gave every so often belied the fact that he was sleeping.

"Jim…" Dr. McCoy waited a moment until the blue eyes opened again and focused on him. "All the tests I've done so far indicate that you have pancreatic cancer," he said quietly. "The standard treatment is very effective, and I've started you on it, but… something's not right. There's something going on here that I can't put my finger on."

The captain looked slightly panicked, and McCoy hoped he wasn't hitting him with too much at once. But the questions had to be asked, and time was a luxury he was afraid they didn't have.

He leaned over so that his eyes were almost level with Jim's, and he put a firm hand on his friend's shoulder to be sure he had his attention. "Jim, is there something you're not telling me? Did anything happen to you recently that you can't explain?"

McCoy could see his friend struggling to focus through the haze of pain. He wished he could give Jim something that would ease his pain without knocking him out, but the captain was allergic to the two best pain meds that would accomplish this.

"Bones, I think… there was something…" Jim's breathing became more ragged, and his pain level rose as he tried to think.

McCoy could hardly stand to see his friend in such agony, and was just about to give up and hit him with a hypo that would induce unconsciousness, when he suddenly saw a change in Jim's face as lucidity cut through the pain.

"I didn't drink," Jim said weakly.

Maybe he wasn't so lucid after all, McCoy thought. "What?" he asked.

"The night of the party. I didn't drink. Well, not that much.,,"

Jim stopped talking and suddenly lost focus again, writhing as a wave of pain hit him. "Oh, god," he whispered. He reached out a hand, found Bones' arm and clung to it. The doctor talked him through the pain, telling him it would be okay, telling him to breathe.

McCoy wiped the younger man's forehead with a cool cloth, and called for a nurse to bring a glass of water.

The pain diminished slightly, and Jim's grip on McCoy's arm loosened. The nurse brought the water and McCoy supported Jim's head so he could take a drink.

"You were saying something about not drinking much at the party?" The doctor just wanted to get some answers from Jim as quickly as possible so he could medicate the captain back into oblivion. Seeing his best friend this way was almost more than he could take.

The captain nodded. "Yeah, I only had three drinks and I woke up with the worst hangover of my life." He paused and found the energy to produce a ghost of a smile. "You know me, it takes a lot more than three drinks to give me a hangover."

McCoy felt some of his irritation returning. "Well, why didn't you let me check you out? At the very least you should have mentioned it!"

"I don't know. One of the drinks…" He took a sharp breath as a pain shot through him. "One of the drinks came from a hot alien woman, and I just thought maybe it was some alien drink that didn't agree with me."

McCoy's intuition told him this was important. Perhaps he was grasping at straws, but the captain's illness could have been caused by someone unintentionally poisoning him with a toxic substance. Or maybe it wasn't unintentional. If only Jim wasn't so stubborn and had come in sooner, maybe the substance could have been found and analyzed.

The irritation was definitely back full force. "And you didn't want to say anything because I've only warned you about drinking alien substances a hundred times. I can't believe…"

Jim very effectively interrupted what was warming up to be an impressive tirade from McCoy by suddenly turning a very pale shade of green, and struggling to sit up before turning his head to vomit the water he had just drunk onto the floor.

All the annoyance Bones had felt toward his friend quickly fled. "No more liquids for you," he said as he rubbed Jim's back.

After emptying the contents of his stomach, Jim was completely spent, and he actually nodded when Bones offered to give him something to make him sleep for a while. The quiet hiss of a hypo signaled Jim's reprieve from misery, and possibly for the first time in his life, he willingly accepted the blackness as it came.


	6. Chapter 6

**Ok, so it's been more than a year since I last updated this story. It probably took less time to write War and Peace, but in my defense, I just finished my senior year of college, so didn't have much time for non-academic pursuits. However, this time I will finish this fic, though I wouldn't expect anyone to believe me. Suffice it to say, it's almost complete, though I'm still just posting a chapter at a time. Please R&R.**

**Disclaimer: None of these characters are my own creation.**

The tests a McCoy conducted a few hours later confirmed his fears. The antibiotic and cell-growth inhibitor were doing nothing to improve Jim's condition. In fact, he was getting worse. Though he was not yet letting himself think the word "dying", it was there, lurking in the corners of his mind, waiting for the moment he was forced to face reality.

Jim's admission that he had a hangover after three drinks the other night had felt important, but the information had not led McCoy to any breakthroughs in Jim's case.

Thinking that Jim may have been poisoned by accepting an unknown drink, McCoy had spent hours in his office researching the effects of a multitude of alien substances on the human system. He read dozens of obscure cases where hapless humans had consumed a foreign food or drink and paid for it in horrendous ways that ranged from internal organs slowly corroding away, to limbs falling off, to parasitic worms in eggs that hatched inside the small intestine, and made their way out of the body in a way that McCoy could have happily lived the rest of his life without knowing about. But nothing he read resembled the symptoms that the captain was having, and the doctor was starting to despair that he would be able to save his friend.

To make matters worse, the pain Jim was in kept him from resting in comfort even when he was sedated. He was allergic to several medications that might have been more effective at easing his discomfort, and even when he was unconscious, his pain was evident by his facial expressions and the way he thrashed around on the biobed. McCoy couldn't remember when he had last seen a patient in so much pain.

McCoy rubbed his eyes, which were throbbing in his skull, and tried to concentrate on the letters on the screen. It did no good. The words remained too blurry to see, and his head was pounding too much for him to concentrate.

He had not slept since Jim had been brought into sickbay, and the fatigue was starting to take its toll. He didn't want to sleep, didn't want to allow himself to rest until he had figured out some way to help Jim, but he finally had to admit that he was so tired his brain wasn't functioning. If he didn't get a few hours of sleep, he would be worthless. After leaving strict instructions to the staff on duty to wake him if there were any changes, McCoy left sickbay and headed for his quarters. Once there, he told the computer to wake him in three hours. It was as much sleep as he felt he could allow himself. The doctor dropped exhaustedly onto his bunk and despite his overwhelming worries, he was asleep in seconds.

Even in sleep, his brain did not stop working on the medical mystery at hand. He dreamt that he was back at the cafeteria of the hospital at the Starfleet Academy. Sitting across from him was his good friend, Dr. Will Haney. Will was wearing a party hat, and was trying to get McCoy to wear one too, but McCoy didn't want it.

A girl with fairy wings brought a huge bowl of chocolate pudding and two spoons to the table, and the two doctors dug in. Between bites of pudding, Will was consulting him on a case that had him baffled. A patient of his had all the symptoms of stage three liver cancer, coupled with sepsis. The thing that was so perplexing was that Will himself had given her a complete physical five days ago and all of the tests had shown her to be perfectly healthy. There was no way he could have missed something like advanced liver cancer.

While Will was talking, he was gesturing with his spoon, and chocolate pudding was flying everywhere. McCoy yelled at him to stop making a mess, but Will wouldn't stop. Suddenly there was pudding everywhere, and McCoy was swimming through it, trying to find his way to the surface. He could still hear Will talking in the distance about his patient, asking him for his input on the case, but he could no longer see Will or anything else. He was choking on pudding, flailing around, he was caught in it, and he couldn't break free… McCoy woke up, flailing around in his bed, still trying to get free of the pudding.

After a moment of disorientation, he realized that he was tangled up in his sheets. He felt completely foolish, and chuckled to himself. Of all the things to have a nightmare about, chocolate pudding was probably the lamest.

Reality suddenly came rushing back to him and all at once he remembered that Jim might be dying. A second later he remembered the rest of his dream. It was more than a dream, he realized. It was a memory of a forgotten conversation with a friend. Of course, the actual incident had contained no party hats or fairy wings, and a whole lot less chocolate pudding, but the conversation had been real.

Now fully awake, McCoy tried to remember the rest of the conversation. It hadn't meant much to him at the time. McCoy hadn't been involved in the case, and he didn't even know whether the patient had lived or died. What he did remember was that Will had seemed thoroughly at a loss as to how he could have missed stage three liver cancer five days earlier. McCoy seemed to remember that the woman had just come back from a mission on a planet. He thought maybe it was an unexplored planet, which is why she had undergone such an extensive physical upon her return. That was protocol. She'd been perfectly healthy, and then a few days later she was dying of cancer. And sepsis. Just like Jim. This just could not be a coincidence, McCoy thought. There were too many similarities here.

McCoy knew exactly what he needed to do. It was the middle of the night on the ship, and all of the senior officers were probably asleep, but McCoy had to awaken Uhura and get her to send an emergency subspace communication to Dr. Haney. He punched the intercom on the wall and shouted for Uhura.

The senior communications officer was groggy at first, but quickly became alert as she listened to McCoy's very loud explanation over the intercom. She wasn't sure if he was yelling from excitement or urgency, or if he just thought she might have trouble hearing him, but she had to turn the speaker down to make sure she wouldn't suffer ear damage. Once she understood the gravity of the situation, she told McCoy to meet her on the bridge in five minutes.

It was a very anxious McCoy who paced back and forth on the bridge as Uhura sent out his message. He had recorded it himself, to ensure that the urgency of Jim's condition was accurately conveyed.

Uhura explained to the doctor that they were too far from Earth to be able to communicate with Dr. Haney in real time, and at her estimation it would take approximately twenty minutes for the message to be relayed, and the same amount of time for a response to reach them. She didn't add that the time could be significantly longer if Dr. Haney was not immediately available at the hospital. Whoever handled communications at the hospital may not consider the message to be a top priority, which could result in an inestimable delay.

After ten minutes of enduring Dr. McCoy's alternate pacing and hovering over her shoulder, Lt. Uhura politely but firmly suggested that the doctor go back down to sickbay. She promised to let him know the minute she heard back from the hospital.

After McCoy left, Uhura had to admit that she felt rather like pacing herself. She had not been fully aware of the seriousness of the captain's condition until she witnessed first-hand the urgency in Dr. McCoy's voice and manner. She could only hope that the person handling communications at the hospital recognized the direness of the situation. What if the message wasn't received? What if it was received, but the hospital failed to pass it on to the doctor? Uhura couldn't stop worrying, so she sent the message again, but this time she gave it a Priority One rating. Technically, she was not allowed to send out a Priority One message without the Captain's permission, but she didn't think he would mind, given the circumstances.

Sending the second communication eased Uhura's mind temporarily, until she started thinking of other unfortunate possibilities. What if this Dr. Haney didn't work at the academy hospital anymore? What if he had died? What if he was there, but didn't remember the case McCoy was referring to, or couldn't send the information McCoy needed? What if…

Uhura's melancholy reverie was interrupted by a beep from her console, indicating that there was an incoming message. Her heart pounded as she pushed the button to receive it. A moment later, tears of frustration filled her eyes as she heard the message.


	7. Chapter 7

**Thanks to all of you who continued reading after so long. The mystery will be cleared up soon! (Not in this chapter but in the next.) Please R&R.**

Dr. McCoy was ready to go crazy down in sickbay. It had been nearly an hour already, and still no response from Haney. The part of him that was able to think rationally about the situation told him that an hour was really not much time. Even if the doctor had received the message himself and responded immediately, it still would have taken forty minutes. Even so, the irrational part of him was tempted to page Uhura every five minutes to check if she'd received a communication. The only thing that stopped him was knowing that this would be insulting to the Lieutenant as well as irritating. She was a good officer, she understood the urgency of the situation, and she had promised to contact him immediately. He had to trust her to do her job.

He was just getting ready to give in to desperation and ask Uhura to send the message again when his intercom beeped. He could tell from her voice that the news was not going to be good. "Dr. McCoy, I've received a communication from Starfleet Academy Hospital. Dr. Haney is on vacation. They understand the seriousness of the situation, and they're going to try to reach him, but…" Uhura's voice cracked slightly, "he's hiking in the Himalayas, and they are not confident that they will be able to contact him."

McCoy sat down heavily at his desk chair. So that was it. Now it was a waiting game. The best he could do would be to try and keep Jim comfortable until Haney contacted him, or until… "Damn it!" McCoy slammed his fist on his desk. He wouldn't think that way, he couldn't afford to. It wasn't fair to his friend to give up on him prematurely. If this was some alien virus or poison, who knew? It could reverse itself, and Jim could recover as quickly as he'd deteriorated.

A hoarse scream broke McCoy's train of thought, and he practically leapt over his desk in his rush out of his office.

He wanted to keep sleeping, but he couldn't. The pain in his back was blinding agony, beyond anything he'd ever experienced. And to make it worse, someone was screaming, and screaming and wouldn't stop. He couldn't take it… the screaming… and the pain, why wouldn't it stop? Someone, Bones, make it stop!

His eyes flew open suddenly, and as the stark reality of sickbay rushed into his consciousness he was all at once aware of the fact that the voice he heard screaming was his own. He made a superhuman effort to stop himself, to shut his mouth and quiet the noise, but he was only successful in bringing it down to a level somewhere between a whimper and a moan.

"Jim… Jim… Can you hear me?" Bones was talking to him. The captain was loath to move his head. Any movement at all caused a fresh burst of pain, so he slowly shifted his eyes in the direction of the voice. The doctor's worried face came into view.

"Jim, I want to give you some more pain meds to help you go back to sleep, but I need to bring your heart rate and blood pressure down, first. I know you're scared, Jim. I know you're in pain. But I need you to try and relax."

"Can't relax… Bones", he ground out through gritted teeth. "Back… _hurts_. Oh…god…." He couldn't catch his breath. He was panicking. He had a high pain tolerance, had always prided himself on his ability to take a punch without blinking, for never showing when it hurt, but this time, he could not take it, and he didn't know what to do. Every breath hurt him, but he couldn't stop himself from panting. As fast as he was breathing, he wasn't getting any air.

Dr. McCoy put his hand over Jim's, and leaned over so that his friend could easily see him without having to turn his head. "Look at me Jim." His voice was calm but commanding. He'd used the same tone with women in labor, junkies going through withdrawal, and victims of violent crime. It was the voice of a competent professional, and it told the patient that he was in control, that everything would be okay. He'd never before had to use it with Jim, but it had the same effect. Jim looked at him.

"Jim, you're having trouble breathing, so I'm putting this oxygen mask on you. Don't panic. Jim… don't panic. Look at me. Don't fight it. It's going to help you breathe. Look at me. Breathe in and out. Jim… it's okay. In and out… in… and out."

Slowly the heart rate indicator began to drop, and even more slowly the blood pressure indicator followed.

When the levels were finally low enough, McCoy breathed a sigh of relief as he pressed a hypo into Jim's neck and gave him a temporary respite from misery.

Spock was in the command chair when the blue and green world of Idaus came into view on the screen. "Lieutenant Uhura, please hail the Idausians and attempt to establish communications."

The communications officer went to work, and after a moment, a loud raspy voice was heard, shouting over static. "Hello… _hello_? Enterprise? Can you hear me? Are you there?"

Uhura turned the audio down slightly, and then turned to Spock. "I'm not receiving an image over the view screen, Commander. According to the reports, they were given sufficient technology by the Federation to transmit images at this close range."

"This is acting Captain Spock, of the USS Enterprise speaking. We are receiving your audio transmission. With whom am I speaking?"

The raspy voice filled the speakers again. "Captain Spock, thank you so much for coming. This is Controller Pyloc. I wasn't sure if you'd received my… _our_ distress signal. I'm so sorry I can't let you see a face with my voice. We've been having some problems with our communications, among other things. I was very worried that you wouldn't get here in time."

"What was the reason for your distress signal?" Spock asked calmly. If he'd believed in such things, he might say that he was getting what a human would describe as a bad feeling about this Pyloc. He recognized the name from his research on the planet. This particular Idausian was the preeminent elected official on the planet, the equivalent of a president or prime minister.

"I'd really prefer to discuss this with you face- to-face," Pyloc responded. "I'm having a little trouble hearing you, and I'm worried this transmission could fail any second, with the problems we've been having."

"I'm afraid I cannot order a landing party down to your planet without further information," Spock replied. "I at least need to be briefed regarding the reason for your distress signal."

There was a pause in the transmission before Pyloc said, "I cannot give you details right now, but trust me when I say that the troubles we are having will mean dire consequences for your Federation. I really must insist that you come down to Idaus so that we can discuss this in person. I can ensure that you will be safe. I have very powerful friends in the Federation who would not be happy to hear that you refused a meeting with me." Pyloc's voice was becoming and more shrill as he abandoned diplomacy and began a tirade. "I would not have dragged you across the stars if the situation was not urgent, and I am insulted that you do not trust or respect me enough to come down here and meet with me like civilized beings. I don't know who you think you are, but I have never heard of you, and I will personally…" A burst of static interrupted Pyloc's rant and was followed with silence.

"I've lost the transmission, Commander," Uhura reported. "I'm trying to raise him again." She tried for several minutes before announcing that the planet's communication systems seemed to be down.

It took under an hour to assemble a landing party. Besides himself, Lieutenant Uhura was the only high-ranking officer in the party. Pyloc clearly spoke fluent English, but Uhura might be needed to translate for other Idausians who did not. He could not afford to take any other high-ranking officers, considering that the captain was out of commission, and so little was known about the situation before them. It went against Spock's training and instincts to lead his crewmen down to a planet with so little information, but the Federation had been very clear that the Enterprise was to offer the Idausian leaders whatever assistance they required.

Before heading to the transporter room, Spock stopped into sickbay. He wanted to personally brief Dr. McCoy on the landing party's mission… and he wanted to personally check in on Jim.

He was unprepared for the sight of his captain lying on a biobed, so clearly close to death. He wasn't prepared either for the tired, hopeless doctor who was keeping vigil at Kirk's bedside. McCoy had told him that morning that he was waiting on some information that might save Jim's life, and at that time he seemed to be holding out some hope that he could still save him. But critical time had gone by, and each passing hour seemed to have taken a great emotional toll on the doctor.

"You have not yet heard from Starfleet Academy Hospital." It was not a question. The answer was obvious.

Dr. McCoy jerked, as if startled to find that someone else was in the room. He turned weary eyes to Spock. "Oh, I've heard from them. They've sent two communications letting me know that they haven't yet been able to reach Dr. Haney."

Spock could see that nothing he could say would lend any comfort to the doctor, so he decided to give McCoy the information he had come to deliver. "I am leading a landing party down to Idaus. Our attempts to communicate with the Idausian leader were unsatisfactory, so I was forced to make the decision to beam down to the planet." Spock expected some kind of angry outburst from the doctor at the abrupt change of subject. Didn't he know Jim was dying? Didn't he care? Who gave a damn about that waste of a planet, anyway?

But Dr. McCoy didn't have the energy or the heart to chastise Spock for his insensitivity, and the Vulcan walked away feeling an unjustified pain in his heart that he could not admit, even to himself. He was used to feeling like an outsider, but he suddenly felt it more acutely. McCoy had every right to call the Captain a friend. He had put in the time, gotten to know James Kirk on a personal level. Spock could not say the same. Most of his interactions with the captain had ranged from mildly unpleasant to ferociously violent. So why did he feel that he was in danger of experiencing a deep personal loss over a man that he barely knew?


	8. Chapter 8

Spock and the rest of the landing party materialized on Idaus in what looked like a throne room gone to seed. According to the research he had done, these were the correct coordinates for what the Idausians called "The Hall of Great Decisions", but it hardly looked like the same opulent palace that had been described in the Federation Ambassador's official report. Dust was everywhere. It floated in the air, making it difficult to see, and grit and dirt covered every visible surface. A long, richly carved wood table was turned on its side in the middle of the room, and pieces of what looked to be chairs were scattered about the room. The charred remains of what might have been a second ornate table lay in one corner of the hall. Debris and wreckage were everywhere.

All of this Spock took in within a half a second, but before he could issue a command, a familiar raspy voice called out from behind him.

"Captain Spock! I'm so relieved that you decided to meet with me face-to-face. It's really the only way to make agreements, don't you think?"

Spock turned to see the owner of the voice. From his research, he knew that Pyloc was about 64 earth years old, which was a little past middle age for an Idausian. A less logical humanoid might have described Pyloc as looking like a pile of pink gelatin stuffed into a silk sack. A healthy Idausian would be considered obese by human standards, but Pyloc raised the bar in this area. He stood only about four feet tall, and he was literally as wide as he was long. There was no hair anywhere visible on his body, which was also normal for his race. Pyloc had three chins that quivered when he spoke, a bulbous nose, and bulging eyes. He was lavishly dressed in an ornamental silk gown, and he fairly dripped with gold and jewels. The contrast between the wreckage surrounding them and the opulence in which Pyloc had ensconced himself created an impression in Spock's mind that the Controller might be somewhat unbalanced.

"What happened here?" Spock asked, gesturing at the ruins around them.

"Come, come," Pyloc answered, ignoring Spock's question. "We must not talk here. It might not be safe. I can't guarantee that this room is structurally sound. If my communications system had not shorted out I would have provided you with better coordinates. There are other areas of the palace that are better for discussion." He turned and waddled toward a doorway. "Sadly, the palace is in desperate need of repairs, but that will all be fixed shortly, now that you're here." He turned and smiled over his shoulder at the bewildered Enterprise crew.

Pyloc led the landing party down a dark corridor. At regular intervals along the corridor, doors led to other rooms. Some of these doors were open, and revealed similar wreckage to what had been seen in the Hall of Great Decisions. Eventually the corridor ended at a stone door. Pyloc pushed this door open to reveal a set of stone steps that descended into blackness. He fumbled around on the wall for a moment before finding a switch that illuminated the room at the bottom of the stairs.

He led them down into a large basement room lined with shelves. It looked as though it had once been a storehouse, but now it was serving as the Controller's living quarters. There was a small cot in the corner of the room that looked hardly adequate to hold Pyloc's impressive girth. A chipped wash basin stood beside the cot, and metal shelves held ornate silk robes, carefully folded. A table and chairs had been set up in the middle of the room. "Please, take a seat, all of you. We have many things to discuss. I regret I am not in a position to offer much in the way of hospitality, but if anyone is thirsty I can at least provide refreshment." He poured himself a glass of amber liquid from a crystal decanter, and offered to do the same for his guests, who declined.

The five members of the landing party took seats around the table. "Controller Pyloc," Spock began, "What has happened to this building?"

Pyloc sighed. "Let me start at the beginning, Captain. As you well know, we are a capitalistic society. Before the discovery of vast stores of dilithium crystals beneath our surface, our primary industries were gold and brillian mining." Pyloc paused, noting some confused looks around the table. "This is a brillian," he said, pointing to a luminous gem around his neck. It was black, but flashed red and green in the dim light, and seemed to shine with an inner glow. Pyloc waved a bejeweled hand. "Anyway, once dilithium crystals were discovered here, mining for jewels and precious metals became a secondary concern."

Pyloc paused and took a sip of his drink. "We began focusing our energy on mining the much more lucrative crystals for sale, first to the Klingons, and then to your Federation. We have always had three social classes on Idaus, the mining class, the between class, and the deciding class. I, of course, am a member of the latter. The deciding class is largely made up of elected officials, and we make the laws and govern Idaus. This arrangement has worked fine for hundreds of years, until very recently. About two cycles ago, some malcontents in the mining class began spreading dangerous ideas among their kind. They were unhappy with their lot in life, and decided to stir up trouble. They wanted more money, more freedom, property. Of course, we threw the leaders in prison, but it wasn't enough. The ideas had spread, and many began refusing to work. As you can imagine, this was a very distressing situation for us. How could we continue to provide dilithium crystals for your esteemed Federation without the necessary labor? It occurred to us to use those miners which we had incarcerated to continue the mining, under penalty of the whip. This worked for a short while, but some of them were lunatics. Absolutely mad. No matter how much we punished them, they refused to work. More and more of them refused to do their duties, and were imprisoned." Pyloc's voice was becoming shrill as he told his story. He was so focused on telling his tale that he failed to notice the negative reaction he was getting from the Enterprise crew. "Finally, we had to make an example of a few of their leaders. It was regrettable, of course, but as you can clearly see, we had no other choice. After their execution…"

"You executed the leaders of the mining class?" Spock interrupted.

"Well, I just explained why we had no other choice," Pyloc spat out. "We were on the verge of anarchy."

"And this proved to be an effective measure?" Spock could guess the answer to his question, based on the wreckage surrounding him.

Pyloc took a deep breath and continued in a more pleasant tone. "Unfortunately, we underestimated how widespread this lunacy had become. The mining class took up arms against us, and overtook the prison where we kept their members. They managed to set all of the criminal miners free, along with some other dangerous felons. Then… they came here." Pyloc sighed, his facial expression that of a persecuted victim. "They attacked at night. They came in and destroyed the Hall of Great Decisions, as well as the private chambers of all of the Deciders. They captured or killed all except myself. I managed to hide down here until they left. They have been back three times, looking for me, but I have evaded capture. I suppose they now think I am dead, or have run away. But they do not suspect that I have more potent allies than they could ever imagine… the Enterprise, and all the power she commands." He said this last sentence gleefully, clapping his hands and laughing as his three chins wobbled furiously.

"What is it that you expect us to do?" Spock asked, one eyebrow raised.

"Well, your weapons are far advanced above anything the miners have. I would simply need you to provide a display of power so awesome that it would scare the resisters back into compliance. They have taken a warehouse not far from here as their base. One blast of fire from your ship would destroy it, and kill their leaders, leaving the rest in disarray. Then you could arm my military with your weapons. They all scattered and hid, but we could find them and give them strong weapons. That would ensure that nothing like this would ever happen again." Pyloc had a gleam in his eye as he spoke that made him look unhinged.

"I am afraid you have misinterpreted our offer of assistance," Spock said calmly. "We will not be able to provide you with weapons, nor will we destroy any structures or cause any loss of life. However, we would be happy to aid you in initiating and carrying out negotiations with the miners. Some agreement may be reached that would be satisfactory to both sides."

Pyloc's fleshy face turned red and his bulging eyes protruded even further than normal. "Negotiations? _Negotiations_? That is entirely unacceptable. I will not allow anything less than military might in this situation. They must be stopped, they must be taught a lesson, everything must go back to the way it was. _I will accept nothing else_!" Pyloc was screaming now, and pounding his fist on the table.

In comparison to the irate Controller, Spock seemed even more composed than usual. "I am sorry that our solution is unacceptable to you, Controller Pyloc. However, it is against the Federation's most fundamental directives for us to get involved in any way in this situation, other than as a moderator. If you cannot accept this help, I am afraid we must leave."

Pyloc stood abruptly, knocking his chair over. He was breathing heavily, and his bulging eyes glittered black in the dim light. To the Enterprise crew he looked like a lunatic. "I was afraid you would respond this way. But no matter. I have taken precautions." His face suddenly changed, as he regained control of himself. He smiled at each member of the landing party in turn, ending with Spock. Then he spoke in a low voice. "Your captain is very ill, is he not? Dying, I believe." His slimy smile made him look like a snake that has just swallowed a whole deer.

"How could you know that?" Lt Uhura burst out, forgetting herself.

The greasy smile got wider. "Oh, I know, because I planned it. I caused it. Indirectly, of course."

"How could you possibly be responsible for the Captain's illness?" the Communications Officer demanded. "We just got here, and he's been sick for days."

"Oh, I've been planning this for some time. Just a safety measure, in case you didn't see things my way. The Captain should have been more careful who he shared his bed with. You never know who someone might be working for." The Controller's laugh echoed crazily in the cavernous room.

The anger emanating from the Enterprise crew was almost palpable. They looked at each other in confusion. Even Spock's cool demeanor seemed to be slipping slightly. This time, the calm in his voice was deadly. He spoke very slowly. "What have you done to Captain Kirk?"

"Oh, well, if I told you that, I'd lose my leverage, wouldn't I?" Pyloc chuckled. "Suffice it to say, that by my estimations, your captain will be dead in twenty-four Earth hours. That is, if you don't cooperate. If you decide to meet my demands, I will be more than happy to tell you how to save your captain."

There was a moment of silence. Finally, Spock spoke. "If what you are saying is true, and you are responsible for Captain Kirk's current condition, you will be arrested for crimes against the Federation. But I still would not issue a command that would take a life on your planet… even if it would save the Captain's."

Pyloc smiled. "Oh, I didn't expect you to give in so easily." He took several steps back, so that he was standing under a low-lying beam in the ceiling. Reaching into his ample robes, he pulled out what looked to be a Klingon disrupter, and aimed it at the Enterprise crew. "Don't move," he said, aiming it at Spock. "You wouldn't want to be down to your third in command, would you?" Pyloc cackled as if he'd just told a joke. "Now, I regret being forced to aim a weapon at you, but I didn't want you to get any foolish ideas about beaming me up to your ship with you. I'm not going to harm you, as long as you leave peacefully. Go back up to your ship. Check in on your Captain. I'm quite sure he's in agony. No one would ever wish to die the way he is dying. Perhaps seeing his pain might cause you to change your mind." Pyloc gestured above his head. "This beam is coated in brillian dust, which is proven to scramble transporter signals. So don't get any bright ideas about beaming me up with you. It won't work." Pyloc pointed at Spock with the disrupter. "Go ahead, call your ship and beam up. Think about my offer. Your captain doesn't have much time."


End file.
